


GREY

by EvanBlack



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alien Abduction, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Other, Torture, UST, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22526059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvanBlack/pseuds/EvanBlack
Summary: What happened to Mulder during his abduction? And can he ever get over it?
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	GREY

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not re-post to any other site without writer's permission.

The light blinded Mulder's eyes and filled his heart to bursting with fearful joy as he felt himself leave the ground - leave the very Earth - behind him and rise slowly into the ship.

Fleetingly, he thought of a class trip he'd been on to the Guggenheim when he was 11. Standing at the foot of the mad spiral of art, moving up into a space he'd never imagined could exist. That's what being abducted by aliens was like, he thought crazily - like going to the Guggenheim times a thousand. He felt himself grinning like an idiot and caught the eye of a middle-aged woman who grinned back at him, his excitement reflected in hers.

The light snapped off and left a grey glow. A door below them disappeared instantly, shutting out the view of Oregon with dark finality. Mulder felt a worm of unease crawl into his belly. The magnet which had drawn him to this place - the pull of destiny that allowed no alternative - suddenly weakened and he felt his senses return to him like a drunk who wakes to find he's fucked his best friend's wife.

He looked at the middle-aged woman again for reassurance, only to find that she too had woken up to other, less pleasant, possibilities.

A bar of light appeared, defining a previously invisible wall, and Mulder felt the hair on his neck and forearms prickle as a little grey alien whispered through it. He almost felt like laughing at the sense of anticlimax. A lifetime of searching, believing, dreaming, was satisfied in an instant and he could hear himself thinking: 'Okay, they're real. What happens next?' 

What happened next happened fast. One minute they were huddled together, the next the greys were all around them, and between them, separating them like collies cut sheep from the flock, herding them to different parts of the ship. Mulder glanced at the woman one last time, then never saw her again.

***

Mulder was jostled into a small metal room, empty of everything but a drain in one corner. He could feel the greys touching him and he shivered. It was nothing like ET; their fingers were sharp and cold and careless as they tugged at his clothing until he stripped. They only reached his chest but there was no question in his mind that they held the upper hand. There were four of them with him, for a start, and their movements were deft and practised. They reminded him of a hundred nurses who'd bandaged him up over the years - brusque, businesslike, unsympathetic, completely in charge in their own world - controlling him as they would any patient, from a toddler to a geriatric. 

Mulder tried to keep his boxers on but his resistance was perfunctory once a grey jabbed him in the balls. As he hissed and doubled over in pain, he saw them all cock their heads like dogs, their shiny black eyes as dead as dolls'. Before he'd even straightened up, the one that had jabbed him was tugging at his shorts again, and Mulder slid them off, trying to comfort himself with the thought that he'd pick a more meaningful battle at some indeterminate point in the future.

He was left alone. The room wasn't cold, but he shivered anyway. The room was only a few feet longer than he was tall, and about the same wide. He sat on the floor against the wall and held his knees to his chest. 

Although the sense of apprehension was now overwhelming, he slept.

Charles Kingly had thrown crab-apples at Mr Dyson's cat, and Mr Dyson had run out and grabbed HIM instead of Charles. Mulder hadn't bothered running, as he hadn't realized he might be a target. Mr Dyson was old but strong and his fingers dug into his skinny eight-year-old's bicep...

A grey was tugging him to his feet, and Mulder came fully awake with a shock at how quickly the novelty of these other-worldly creatures had worn off.

'What do you want?' he asked, but the grey just forced him to stand, and then prodded him out of the door and down a corridor. 

The corridor opened out into a dark room. The only thing in the room was an uncomfortable looking metal chair covered with gadgetry. Four metal posts and a glinting canopy made it look like a 23rd century take on a medieval throne. Mulder couldn't see the walls of the room - they receded quickly into blackness outside the tube of light that fell on the chair. The grey poked him into the chair.

He sat. His arms fell naturally onto the rests and as they did, metal straps hissed around his wrists, trapping him there. Another wound around his neck, keeping his head upright. He twisted his head to the sides to see what was coming at him, then was forced to be still by two metal bars that hissed out and pressed into his temples, just firmly enough to immobilize his head, without actively hurting him.

He found a comfortable position for his legs and immediately his ankles were ringed with steel. Mulder suddenly wished he'd fought harder for his shorts. His nakedness was physical and psychological; he was horribly aware of how exposed and vulnerable he was.

They greys could do anything they wanted to him now.

'What do you want?' His voice sounded frightened in the darkness, and the grey who'd brought him here had disappeared. 'Tell me what you want.'

The only response was a quiet hiss that came at him in stereo. From the corners of his eyes he saw something coming close to his head, not stopping, and then the touch of things - points - on his cheeks, not stopping, not STOPPING! - and then the pain of them pressing into his skin, breaking through to the flesh below. 

Pain shot through his face and he cried out - partly in disgust - as he felt the hooks pass into his mouth, grind against his parted teeth, bite briefly into his tongue, and then twist and pop open against the insides of his cheeks. His howl of pain was ignored and the hooks were slowly pulled apart until the skin between his cheekbones and his jaw was tugged taut, keeping his head effectively immobile and his mouth pulled open; he couldn't move without sending jolts of pain through his face. 

Mulder tried to control his breathing, hoping to rein in both the pain and the fear that now threatened to consume him. Two greys moved in front of him and one pushed an instrument of some kind into his mouth and down his throat. Mulder gagged and the movement tore his cheeks. He felt pain in his wrists and realized he'd cut them against the metal restraints in his effort to bring his hands up to protect his face. He felt the instrument in his throat grow bigger and bigger until he couldn't breath, and still it grew. The pain in his chest was enormous, his throat ached with pressure and he felt hot tears running down his cheeks. The greys were going to kill him. It hurt so bad. They were going to kill him and all he could feel was a vague sense of having been cheated. His vision turned black-red, his blood roared in his ears and his penis hardened with painful suddenness, making Mulder's dying thought of Clyde Bruckman.

***

Mulder woke in his cell, cold and shaking and feeling cheated once more - this time of death. He was still naked and there was nothing to wrap himself in, so after a few shivery moments he got to his feet and started to walk up and down, using tiny shuffling steps to make the tiny cell last longer.

As he shuffled, he took stock. His face felt like a bad day at the dentist's. His throat was swollen and raw, his wrists were cut and bruised, as were his ankles. His chest and shoulders were spattered with his own drying blood, and there were traces of dried semen on his belly. And this was only Day One. Mulder felt panic grip him and braced his forearms against the wall of his tiny cell to steady himself. A small whine of helplessness escaped him, making him feel even worse. 

He wondered what Scully would do in this situation and the thought calmed him. Scully would be FURIOUS! The idea amused him and he winced as his torn cheeks protested, making him realize he must have smiled. 

Scully would fight. She wouldn't just lie down and take it, he thought, rebellion rising in him. 

But she had taken it, he remembered suddenly. She'd been abducted and they'd taken her ova and she hadn't been able to stop them. She couldn't remember being there but whatever she'd done in her own defense, it hadn't worked. The thought chilled him all over again. What did they want from him? What would he have to submit to before he died? Had they meant him to die? Was it an accident he'd regained consciousness? Would they try again? Mulder's stomach rolled over at the thought. The pain was bad enough, but he'd obviously climaxed as the suffocation tugged him into the darkness, and a flush of humiliation shot through him at the thought. 

He longed for his shorts in a way he'd never thought possible. At home he used to enjoy wandering about naked. Naked and safe - that was the difference, he thought wryly. Naked and without some little grey fucker trying to kill him by shoving what felt like a Lamborghini piston down his throat.

Mulder walked between the blank walls until he felt as tired as he felt stupid and frightened, and then curled around himself in a corner and slept a dreamless sleep.

***

Mulder jerked awake. He felt stiff and cold but was momentarily unafraid - until he realized the fingers on his wrists were not human. He scrambled to his feet. 

The grey took his wrist again and examined the cuts there, then prodded painfully at the holes in his cheeks. Mulder flinched and the grey blinked and poked another bony finger at his face, disinterested in his pain. 

This time, when the grey tried to usher him through the door, Mulder didn't budge. He shook his head. 

'No.' he said firmly.

The grey jabbed a finger into his hip, but Mulder spun to face him and jabbed back, making the grey step backwards and cock its mantis-like head appraisingly. It blinked twice, as if curious, but did not attempt to approach Mulder again. Just as Mulder was starting to allow himself to feel vaguely victorious, two more greys entered the cell and gripped him in fingers like vices, dragging him off his feet and out of the cell before he could even turn to get a blow in at them. 

He kicked and thrashed and cried out at the pain their mechanical grips caused in his arms. They held him so tightly that he could feel his hands and forearms becoming numb and useless.

Despite kicking and writhing, he was efficiently fastened into the seat and held in place once more by means of his own bleeding flesh. His protest had been feeble and futile, and tears of frustration blurred the outline of two more greys that approached him - their movements sure and purposeful.

Mulder tried to close his mouth, but this time it was not his mouth they wanted. Mulder felt the seat under him drop away, leaving just two slats at the edges on which he was now balanced. One of the greys bent between his knees and Mulder felt something cold and hard worm its way under his balls and between his cheeks. Anal probe! The words would have been a comical cliche if it hadn't been happening to him. He tensed to try and keep it out but could only grunt with pain as the grey twisted the probe into his anus. 

Mulder had worked on a lot of cases that involved the sexual abuse of children. Using his profiling skills he had tried to understand the motivation of the perpetrators of those heinous crimes. But now he knew how the victims felt. He was powerless and weak, while a force of immense, unstoppable strength did whatever it wanted to him, without consideration for the agony it caused.

And it was agony. The probe bore its way into him relentlessly, making him shout in pain and horror and fear of the damage it may cause. As he felt himself opened and invaded, Mulder started to cry in anger. He wanted so badly to kill the greys, and to hurt them while he did it. His sense of betrayal was enormous. All the years he'd believed in them and sought them out while everybody laughed at him. Well, being proved right was no comfort; he didn't even get the last laugh, now that an alien was playing the ultimate cosmic joke by raping his spooky ass.

The probe finally stopped its thrust upward and the grey moved it about a little inside him, making him wince and hold his breath. Then the probe made contact with something inside him that made him groan. It pressed there again and - to his shock - Mulder felt himself start to harden in response. He knew that victims of homosexual rape could become involuntarily aroused by the experience, however distasteful or violent, due to pressure on the prostate gland - and could only assume that's what the probe had found. At the same time as he was mentally screaming at the grey to get away from him, he pressed down against the probe, seeking more contact with it, grunting in pleasure as he found it, and aware that he was now fully erect.

The grey between his legs looked back at the one still standing in front of Mulder and communication passed between them. There was no sound, but Mulder could feel it all around him, pressing against his brain in the same way as the probe nudged his prostate.

He became aware that he was now moving involuntarily on the probe, clenching around it, moving his hips a little, starting to breath more heavily. He wanted to stop, but he couldn't - it felt so good. It also felt shameful, and Mulder realized that, far from ruining the experience, that sense of a taboo being broken was adding to his excitement. It was disgusting - and it was sensational. Within a few minutes, he felt his climax tightening his balls, his hips jerked spasmodically and he came hard with a moan of pleasure and pain and sheer novelty as he felt his ass clutch and squeeze the unforgiving metal inside him.

Once again the greys communicated and this time Mulder got a sense of their approval. It brought him down from his orgasm fast. He didn't want their approval of anything that involved strapping him down and raping him, even if it did end in his own climax.

They released him and he cried out once more as the hooks withdrew from his cheeks. They'd gone through the same holes as previously, but it still hurt like hell and made him feel sick to have the hooks in his mouth and stretching his flesh.

As he shuffled up and down his tiny cell, Mulder replayed what had just happened to him and tried to work out what it was they wanted from him. The experience of suffocation could have been any kind of test - of his lung capacity, his heart, his speed of recovery - but this second incident seemed to bolster the case for their interest in him being of a sexual nature. Twice they'd made him come, each time in a different way. Mulder almost laughed. If only they'd been up on their surveillance they could have given him a supply of little cups and left him at home on his couch! Then his starter-smile snapped off. If that was what they wanted from him, how would they arouse him the next time? Mulder stopped shuffling and stood immobile, nervous and filled with dread, unconsciously cupping his genitals protectively. 

Out of nowhere, he was crying. He slid down the wall, clutching his knees to his chest and sobbed. It wasn't fair! He'd spent six long years so in love with Scully that he could barely even think of sex with another woman, and days after finally consummating their love for each other, he had been abducted and - seemingly - punished for the fleeting joy they had found together.

Through his tears, the memory of their union consumed him, and his sobs slowed as he concentrated on that.

Scully knocking at his door, fragile, vulnerable. The easy, familiar way she'd come to him, come to his bed for comfort - allowed him to embrace her and hold her, molding himself around her body, whispering into her warm neck as she touched his palm to her soft lips.

He'd grown hard and - for once - had not moved apart from her to preserve their modesty. For the first time, he'd allowed that contact to grow, allowed himself the guilty pleasure of feeling his cock press against her, suddenly not caring if she felt it too.

And she had felt it. She had been silent and very still, but he felt the change in the air around them and it took all his willpower to resist rocking gently against her. He was so hard it hurt and he could barely breathe. 

She had turned, breaking the contact and drawing from him an involuntary moan of regret, but she had not left him. Instead she'd looked into his face and found the truth she'd been seeking in his eyes. She must have, because then she'd lain on her back beside him, and slowly unbuttoned her shirt, opened her bra, and guided his lips to her breast.

Even here, now, cold and afraid after being half-choked and sodomized, Mulder felt his cock grow again at the memory. He touched himself lightly, then stretched out and started to stroke himself in time to the pictures in his head.

She was so soft, and yet so hot and strong. Everything he knew about Scully's mind, he found in her body. It welcomed him, it teased him, it demanded his best. But that first night, he only knew how beautiful she was. 

He'd undressed her, kissing every new patch of silky skin as it appeared under his hands, until she was naked and vulnerable before him - then he'd wanted to cry at her beauty, and at her trust. She hid nothing from him - unselfconscious as his eyes grazed her body, from the hollows of her shoulders to the puckered pink nipples swollen with desire. When his eyes dropped to her dark red curls, Scully opened her legs so he could glimpse her sex, already swollen and slick and ready for him.

He didn't touch her. He couldn't. If he'd touched her he'd have lost control. Instead he lowered himself to the bed beside her and started to unbutton his own shirt. Scully smiled and caught on, then swung a leg over his legs so she could undress him too. When she finally drew his boxers off his hips and down his thighs, he saw his own wonder mirrored in her eyes as she gazed at his cock where it lay against his stomach - so erect that she had to pull it upwards to position it at her entrance - and then slid down him until he was, finally, buried in Scully...

Mulder came with a cry and a hoarse sob, cum flicking up the wall beside him - and immediately he started to shake with the emotion it left him.

And then he froze.

They were in his head! 

The greys were in his head, probing his thoughts just as surely and uncomfortably as they had probed his ass and his throat. He jerked upright and pounded his temples. 'Get out!' 'GET OUT!' They left him and his chest heaved at the horror of the feeling of them inside his mind. The shock of it - coupled with the aftermath of his vivid memories of Scully - made him sob again. Was this reality? How could this be happening to him? Aliens reading his mind while he jerked off to Scully and came up the wall of a cold, dark cell in the bowels of a spaceship. It was fucking nuts. Was he fucking nuts too? Or was this really happening? Mulder was exhausted with it all; he didn't want to think about it any more, and so he allowed his tears to carry him fitfully into sleep.

***

When they next strapped him into the chair, they didn't insert the hooks in his face. He was free to turn his head and look around. He was grateful - and suspicious. 

The greys had left him alone and that made him nervous too. He looked up at the canopy overhead. He could see metal glinting palely up there and fought a slow tide of panic that they were going to start testing, experimenting, cutting...

A movement in the dark caught his eye and he lowered his gaze again.

Scully walked into the room.

'Scully!!' He jerked as if to rise, but the manacles held him in place. His face hurt as he couldn't hide his delight. But she ignored him. She walked across in front of him and started to undress. It was not a show and - he quickly realised - it was not for him. Scully was undressing the way she would if she were alone in her apartment. She removed her clothes quickly and efficiently, folding each item and placing it on an unseen chair.

Mulder didn't know whether what he was seeing was a window on reality or some kind of recorded hologram or avatar. He didn't care - it beat the hell out of having a probe up his ass.

Even as he had that thought, Scully unhooked her bra and he swallowed hard as her breasts swung free. He felt his balls tighten and his cock stir. Scully half-turned and examined her breasts. Mulder frowned, then realized she was doing a check for breast cancer. Scully's small, neat fingers probed her own flesh gently, a little frown of concentration between her eyes. It was careful and businesslike - and turning him on. Then the frown cleared, but she didn't drop her hands. Instead she took her nipples between her fingers and started to roll and tease them.

Mulder groaned. He was rock hard and straining his hips. There was no sound, but he saw Scully sigh and then she let go of her nipples and ran her hands gently across her own stomach and hips, before turning away. 

He groaned again. 'Scully!' He realized she couldn't hear him, but he was desperate for her to turn back to him. Instead she undid the button on her jeans and slid them off her hips. He gasped and his hips bucked, his cock now standing proudly up from his dark hair. He twisted in the chair to try and gain some contact with his strapped hand, but couldn't reach, and swore in frustration; he was desperate for friction.

Scully folded her jeans, her back to him completely now, then - without ceremony - she bent and slid her panties down her legs. Mulder cried out at the sight of her sex between her legs, glistening from the way she'd teased her own nipples. He thrust frantically into nothing, imagining that he was behind her, a hand on her hip, stroking his way smoothly into her. He came from the thought alone, his cum arcing into the darkness again and again, and splashing back down onto his legs and belly and chest.

He opened his eyes, panting, and saw that Scully had disappeared.

The greys were back and he straightened up. Once more, Mulder could feel their communication and it was overwhelmingly positive. He felt them in his mind and although his head jerked at the sudden intrusion, Mulder felt unaccustomed praise seeping warmly through him and that - and his post-orgasm haze - meant he fell asleep before they even got him out of the chair.

***

He didn't know how long he'd been on the ship but he guessed months.

They had a routine. The greys led Mulder to the chair and restrained him; Scully entered and disrobed. Sometimes she was in her work clothes, sometimes in jeans, other times she was just in a bath-towel. Often she touched herself, tugging her nipples and sliding a finger between her own legs. Sometimes she lay on an unseen bed and opened her legs towards him, then flicked at her clit and rocked her hips until she came, mouthing his name on silent lips.

It didn't matter what she did, Mulder came every time. He even came the time she walked in in his old Knicks T-shirt, curled up on her side and cried herself to sleep; the thought of spooning up behind her, tugging her panties aside and fucking her as she slept was more than enough for him. 

He often thought of fucking her in her sleep. How she'd grunt and maybe try to turn towards him, but he'd hold her face-down instead, rolling on top of her, pinning her legs with his, her slender wrists in his strong hands, helpless under him as he stroked then pumped hard into her. Subduing her token struggles, hearing her moan, thrusting until he felt her orgasm clench and quiver around his slippery cock. And then sliding out of her, taking himself in one hand and pushing instead into her tiny hole - her own juices easing the way into that tight, tight place where he finished himself off... 

Then grey fingers would slide a condom down his frantic shaft and Mulder would arch in near-pain as he came in pulses that seemed to go on forever. 

As his chin dropped to his chest, the same grey would carefully remove the condom - intent on not spilling a drop - and carry it into the darkness. This too had become routine. 

The greys never touched him otherwise any more; they didn't have to. Mulder followed them willingly to the chair now - his Pavlovian cock already rising as he walked through the dark corridors of the ship. The restraints were only an irritation that prevented him from touching himself. It didn't make any difference; Mulder always came within minutes of sitting down. Sometimes he came twice before they led him back to his cell, and they learned to leave him in the chair after the first time so he would have another shot. Often he obliged - sometimes not even softening between ejaculations. 

He had only been with Scully five times before he was abducted. They'd had three days of wild, tender, shocking intimacy after six years of mental foreplay, and it had been unbelievable. But it hadn't been enough to even start to dull his desire for her. Now, the daily visions only seemed to increase it. If they were sexual or sensual, they would have him shooting in a few minutes. If they were not, his own imagination was not far behind in the stimulation stakes.

The greys fed him and watered him and praised him but otherwise faded from his consciousness; they were now just a means to an end, and that end was Scully, always Scully. 

Mulder didn't know what they did with his sperm and didn't care. 

Not being able to touch Scully - or himself - was frustrating, but he always came anyway, and back in his cell he often masturbated again while replaying that day's voyeuristic scene. It was a lot more than he'd had to be satisfied with for years, and he was used to sexual frustration. Sometimes it made him almost-smile when he thought of the parody of his former life that being abducted by aliens had become.

***

He saw Scully every day but he missed her all the same. Missing her became a constant companion. He missed the sex, of course, but more than that he missed watching her, tasting her, smelling her hair; talking to her - and hearing her talk back. He wished he could hear her as well as see her. He wished they could sit in a dark car in a hick town and argue over cats or dogs; Kirk or Picard; cantaloupe or galia. He wanted to watch her eat Chunky Monkey ice cream while flicking through the Forensic Review Quarterly. He longed to open a door for her and follow her through it with his hand lightly resting above the curve of her ass. He wanted her to quell him with an eyebrow and batter him with science. He wanted her lips on his, her lashes on his cheek, her breath in his mouth.

Often he came in his cell, and then cried himself to sleep thinking of her toothbrush on his bathroom window sill. It was a yellow brush and, when Mulder had seen it there for the first time, he'd thought his heart would break with happiness. 

Now he often felt as if his heart would break - just from heartbreak.

As the days blurred, depression crept up on him. It took him longer and longer to ejaculate. One day they led him to the chair only half-hard and when Scully sat on the bed and started to cry as she peeled off her T-shirt, Mulder could only join her helplessly. The need to hold her was as overwhelming as the need to come had once been, but there was no end in sight to it. No release.

He felt the greys' disapproval surround him but could do nothing about it. The next day was the same - and the one after that. Occasionally in his cell Mulder would wake half-hard but would quickly fail as he remembered where he was and what he was doing there. 

When the greys came for him he refused to budge. So they dragged him again. And again. The visions of Scully were discarded; the hooks drove back into his face through hardly-healed scars and the probe drove back into his anus as they continued with brutal efficiency to milk him like a snake.

This horror continued until even the probe against his prostate failed to rouse him. The day after that happened, Mulder was strapped into the chair and looked up to see the metal apparatus descend towards him from the darkness. Held fast and helpless, he could only scream as the flesh on his chest was seared and then split open, and he passed out to the strangely evocative, 4th-of-July stench of his own meat burning.

***

He woke up two months later in a hospital bed with Scully's hand in his and her head on his forearm.

When she lifted her head and he saw her face his first crazy thought was of Bobby Ewing stepping out of the shower. Was it all a dream? Even now he felt his memories fragmenting in his mind, blowing away as if caught in a sound-stage hurricane. 

But the look on Scully's face told him it had been bad for her too and the memory of his need to hold her hit him like a shock wave. He gripped her tightly as she wept on his scarred chest.

As he healed, she told him of her tireless search. She told him of Billy Miles and super-soldiers and shape-shifting imposters. She told him of his own funeral. She told him the baby inside her was his. She told him everything.

He told her nothing.

He felt crazy enough as it was without adding to it with his tall tales of alien rape and intergalactic masturbation. Out loud, it would sound like a letter to Penthouse written by a Star Trek fan from a padded room.

His memories were fragmented but those fragments lingered. They were best recalled when he touched his scars or watched his own torn face in the mirror. Then the pain burned in him again; the pain of physical invasion and - even worse - the pain of missing Scully. 

So he stopped touching his scars, stopped looking in the mirror, started to suppress the past like a Dallas dream. The implant they'd placed in his neck was the only off-worldly evidence they'd left and - after the bald acceptance of its existence - he and Scully never spoke of it again.

Finally his waking hours were almost clear of the ordeal, although his nightmares were newly enriched by it and - even after William was born and life became something wonderful - his nighttime screams never let him forget the truth: that he had been dead, and far, far worse.

But just as she rocked William down from tears, so Scully would enfold his terror in her arms and calm his frantic heart as her soft voice and lips reminded him of a far kinder truth: 

That he was alive now. 

And with her.


End file.
